Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(48)

The wounded fury spiraled away, flying raggedly. The other two had disappeared but Dion tracked the remaining creature and then loosed his arrow, striking it in the torso. It shuddered and then fell from the sky, landing hard on the ground nearby.

By now Cob and Sal had reached Otus but there was nothing they could do. Dion ran over to join them, scanning the sky. ‘Riko could still be alive,’ he panted.

Something large and flailing plummeted from the sky a hundred paces away. It struck the rocks with a sickening crunch. When the group of three ran to the huddled mass on the ground, Dion’s heart sank as he saw that it was Riko. The youth’s eyes were wide and sightless, blood covering his clothing. He had died before having his first shave.

‘We can’t stay here,’ Cob said. ‘We have to leave them.’

‘They’ll be eaten,’ Sal said.

‘So will we if we stay,’ said Dion. ‘We have to go. Quick. Back to the cave.’

The three men sprinted to the cavern. Dion wondered how long it was until dawn. They all threw their possessions into the boat and then exchanged glances, Cob still holding his axe and Sal his sword.

Then Cob looked out at the night and pointed with a trembling hand. ‘By the gods,’ he breathed.

A pack of huge man-shaped figures lumbered along the beach in the distance, dark silhouettes far too large to be human. They were following the shore, in a path that would take them directly past the open mouth of the cavern.

‘They don’t communicate, do they?’ Sal whispered. ‘They’re no longer eldren. They’re just animals.’

‘Pack animals,’ Dion said grimly.

‘What do we do?’ Sal looked at Dion.

‘Only the furies saw us,’ Cob said slowly. ‘There’s no evidence they’re looking for us. This cave is defensible.’

‘We can’t take the risk,’ Dion said. ‘The three of us are going to have to manage the boat.’ There was a giant in the midst of the ogres, five feet taller than its companions. The pack was coming closer with every passing moment. Dion met the eyes of each man in turn. ‘Better to risk a leviathan than every wildran on Cinder Fen. We have to go. Now!’





21


‘Cob, take the front on your shoulders. Sal and I will each lift a corner of the stern.’

‘This is madness,’ Sal muttered. ‘We’ll never carry it with just the three of us.’

‘Got a better idea?’ Dion growled.

‘If the boat was on the shore in the first place . . .’

‘The furies would still have come,’ Dion finished. ‘Get moving. Our lives depend on it.’

Each man went to his place and then Dion counted. ‘On three. Ready? Lift!’

The open-decked boat had been placed with the front facing the beach. Groaning in unison, they lifted, getting it up into the air and then moving forward. Dion had a crushing weight on his shoulder but he knew that to stop would be to die. His back screamed for him to set the boat down but he set his jaw and kept moving.

‘Watch your footing,’ he grunted. ‘Take slow steps. Move!’

Dion was on the left as they shuffled out of the wide gouge in the rock wall they’d called a cave and made their way over the precarious ground, bare feet stepping over sharp rock.

The pack of wildren on the beach saw them immediately and the monstrous creatures started a lumbering run toward them.

‘They’re coming!’ Dion said hoarsely. ‘Let’s get off these rocks, but the moment we’re on sand, we run too!’

He struggled to keep his attention on his task but his eyes kept going to the wildren. The giant opened its mouth and roared, desperate for flesh. It led the charge now, long strides pounding the ground. It ran faster than Dion had expected for a creature of such size.

‘We’re on the sand. Run!’ Dion shouted.

They almost dropped the boat as they shifted into their own ragged sprint. The boat slipped off Dion’s shoulder and stars sparkled across his vision as he lifted it back on. The beach began to slope toward the water.

‘Last stretch!’ Dion gasped. ‘Nearly there!’

He looked over his shoulder and saw a mouth the size of a dinner plate open wide, displaying sharp black teeth as the giant roared again. There were seven in the group; he didn’t know how he managed to count them but he did. Though no words were spoken, there was clear coordination to their actions. They were close enough for him to see individual scars on their bodies.

Dion’s feet plunged into the water and the sensation was so unexpected that the boat slipped forward and none of them was able to hold it up any longer. It struck the shallow water hard, but the keel held, despite digging hard into the sand underneath.

‘Get her off the bottom!’ Cob shouted.

Working together they got the boat moving once more. Dion thanked the gods that the tide was coming in as a wave sent water underneath the hull, lifting up the vessel and enabling them to push it forward.

‘Get in!’ Dion cried.

Cob was short and already in water up to his armpits. With groaning effort, he managed to haul his body over the side. Sal followed a moment later.

Dion ran forward, pushing the boat ahead of him. He gave one final mighty shove and nearly lost his grip near the tiller, but Sal held out a hand and Dion threw himself forward, tumbling into the back of the boat.